


you lost your mind in the sound

by homobirb



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Comfort, Self-Harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homobirb/pseuds/homobirb
Summary: The thoughts don't fade with the first splash of water on his face. Nor on the second or third. His face is nearly numb, cracking under water from chilled pipes.Just like on the inside.// trigger warning: SH //





	you lost your mind in the sound

**Author's Note:**

> eight months clean but I still miss it sometimes. luckily, that itch is easily satisfied by writing vent fics like this
> 
> title taken from [King by Lauren Aquilina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dS5GfL9F7L4)

"I'm melting."

His fingers poke at the bags underneath his eyes; Akira's pupils watch the action within the mirror, pulling the purple skin taught. He mimes a smile at himself, before scowling at how _utterly awful_ it looks. A sleep-deprived teen with a rats nest mop of hair staring back at him, deep plums of skin dragging his eyelids down, grey eyes looking disinterested while his mouth splits open with ingenuity. Crooked stained teeth and acne scars dotting along his jaw to remind him that he is not the perfect being he ought to be.

The thoughts don't fade with the first splash of water on his face. Nor on the second or third. His face is nearly numb, cracking under water from chilled pipes. _Just like on the inside._

The razor is small—pried from within the plastic carcass of a pencil sharpener with his tools. Akira can nearly feel the tension starting to release from his shoulders, heart beating with anticipation of the impending pure relief. Just needs to act methodically; he has an entire ritual to maximize the relief and minimize the likelihood of getting caught. He locked the bathroom door when he came in, razor hidden within his pants pocket. The café is open outside, so he has to be _quick_ and _quiet._

He's done this enough that undoing his belt buckle with one hand is nearly muscle memory. He pushes the right side down far enough, just to expose the jutting of his hip bone and the beginning of the fleshy meat on his leg. Akira has to turn away from the mirror, to grab a few sheets of toilet paper (to flush later, of course), and ends up leaning against the sink.

Razor blade in his right hand, bunched up toilet paper in his left, skin exposed; it's perfect. He holds his breath at the first press down, wincing slightly. And then he swipes the blade to the right and the blood, the _pressure_ —it skims off the surface of his stress, his pain. And although the red welling up is so, _so_ sweet, it's not _enough._ And so he cuts. Again. Right below. The next cut hits at a slight diagonal, connecting the two previous ones. Another parallel. Sideways.

Akira loses count. He barely has enough of a mind to wipe away the dripping red before it hits his pants, but otherwise, his brain is overwhelmed with _sensation_ and _pain_ and _pleasure_ and _relief_ and

The door opens.

There stands Goro Akechi.

Who glances between his eyes and exposed skin, _exposed blood_ , and steps forward, swiftly shutting the door behind him.

Akira drops the razor blade. It clatters against the bathroom tile.

Shit.

"Do you have a first-aid kit in here?" is not what Akira expects to hear. He can barely think, mind slow to sober, still in the icy throes of adrenaline-wracked...terror? Pleasure? Panic?

He manages to stutter out, "I-uh, in the cabinet with the supplies, um, left of the toilet paper."

When Akechi turns around, he steps on the razor, pining it underneath his sneaker.

The detective glances at his foot as soon as he turns around with the kit in hand. Shit. Fuck.

"Can I clean your wounds? I'd rather you leave after they've been properly cared for."

He nods.

Akechi gets to work, pulling out alcohol wipes and gauze. "This might sting."

"Fuuuuuck." It's white-hot pain against his nerves. His fingers dig into the counter behind him and he hisses at the feeling. Akira can handle the pain of self-injury; he can handle the hurt when pulling away the stuck tissue from half-clotted cuts or when his clothes rub against the wounds, sometimes even re-opening them and resulting in spots of dark stains on the fabric. It's _not a good pain_ and he's _not_ inflicting it on himself, he can't control the rate of pain, of pleasure, of pressure.

"Good news: the worst part is over. Even better, they're shallow and small enough that they don't necessitate stitches."

The gauze is gently placed over the weeping skin, then pressed down as Akechi uses medical tape to secure it to his skin.

"...thought you'd be upset..." Akira mumbles.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't quite catch you."

"I thought you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Akechi pulls back. "You can fix your pants now; it's done."

He does as told, pulling his pants back up fully and redoing his belt buckle. "Thanks."

Neither of them move. Akira looks anywhere but at the teen in front of him. If only he would _leave,_ so he could tear the wrappings off without the prying eyes of his cat. The urge to continue has passed, except this wasn't as satisfying nor mind-clearing as his previous sessions, where he's _not_ interrupted and he can escape, scot-free, secrets emblazoned on his skin below layers of clothes, for his eyes and hands only.

A single glance shows Akechi's quirked an eyebrow. Akira's defenses relent, he wants _out,_ wants to go back to when no one knew about his dirty little secret.

"You're not gonna let me leave with the razor, are you."

"Nope."

"You do know I can just go out and buy another."

"And your point is...?"

His fingers twirl on a strand of hair. "I mean, it just seems kind of pointless if you're trying to stop me."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to deter you from doing this again. It's like... putting up obstacles. The more time you have, the more time you have to change your mind and stop." Akechi reaches for his hand; he acquiesces and lets the boy squeeze his hand within the leather grip. "Believe it or not, I _care_ about you, Kurusu-kun. You can always come talk to me whenever the stress gets overwhelming."

"T-thanks."

Akechi releases him, and he walks out the bathroom. Thinks about walking out the café, down the street and to the store... and then hops up the stairs, two steps at a time, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter than usual.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://itshomobirb.tumblr.com/) and [my twitter](https://twitter.com/homobirb)


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